Market Day
by VanessaxAtalanta
Summary: Updated! Now officially a collection of short stories, dealing with some of the vaguer details of Izark's world and the time lapses in the original story. IzarkxNoriko!Suggestions for a new title would be appreciated.
1. Six Questions

Author's Note: 'Tsubaki' is the Japanese name for the camellia plant. Camellias are in the same genus as the tea plant, but this usually refers to either the tea blossoms (used in white tea) or to the three best known ornamental varieties. Cultivated varieties of the common camellia, _Camellia japonica, _have many overlapping petals and come in the full range from white through pink to red (the tree Noriko and Izark find is a red camellia. The leaves are four inches long, dark green, and glossy. Though broad leaved, camellias are considered evergreens. Common Camellias can grow to be thirty feet tall.

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Six Questions

or

Tsubaki

"Izark!"

The warrior dropped the wood he had been carrying and whirled, fingers flying to the hilt of his long sword. His reaction, however, proved totally unnecessary.

Noriko skidded to a halt, just managing to avoid a collision with her guardian, who stared for a moment in bewilderment. She was holding the canteen he had given her; had she gone to fill it at the stream they had heard? Her breathing was heavy, as if she had been sprinting, but why? He could sense no enemies, nor anything that might frighten her. For that matter, the expression with which she now looked up at him was not fear. Even the slight shyness with which she usually addressed him was gone, replaced by brisk intensity.

She was tugging his sleeve, or rather, trying to drag him in the direction she had just come from.

"Here! Here!"

Ah, she'd picked up a new word. Until recently, she had only been able to name basic nouns and descriptors, like objects and colors. About half a month ago, however, she had discovered that all mighty word, that question that all parents worship and fear:

_Why?_

Before that, she had stumbled upon _what _and _where _when a passing farmer enquired as to their destination, and Izark had been obliged to teach her _when _as they walked by a shop full of hour glasses and sundials. _How _was acquired upon the purchase of an intricately wrapped kind of preserved vegetable. To complete the set, an inn keeper's wife had asked Noriko for her name, inadvertently supplying the girl with _who._

She hadn't stopped using those words since she learned them. While _who's _weren't so common outside of towns, _whats _and _wheres, whens _and _hows _ were in constant supply.

There was no end to the _whys. _

The tailor they visited for a change of clothing: _Izark, who?_

The different grains standing in fields they passed, the weather, a fence: _Izark, what?_

The country, the city, the area, the landscape, their destination: _Izark, where?_

Time in general, day as opposed to night: _Izark, when?_

The process of tacking up the horse, of oiling a sword, of mixing ink: _Izark, how?_

The things they bought. Any action, the benefit of which was not immediately obvious. The reason for all things under the heavens: _Izark, why?_

It didn't seem to matter if she understood his replies or not. At first, he had given one word answers or, if he could not, he had told her as best her could that she wouldn't grasp his meaning. It worked, but only until they happened upon another situation. Also, there were times when he found himself explaining despite the language barrier.

Following Noriko though the sparse trees, the young man thought back to the most recent of those incidences.

"_Izark, how?"_

_He was tacking up the horse. Noriko stood at the horse's head, holding the reins. His mind on not cinching the girth too tightly, he responded without thinking, gesturing here and there as he spoke._

"_You put the bridle on first and hold the reins, so that the horse can't walk away. Next comes the saddle pad. You have to put it on extra far up, because it will slide back when you put the saddle on. The breast plate goes on over the neck. Then the saddle goes on, and you have to set it up far and then pull it back so it won't pinch the horse or rub her fur the wrong way. The girth should be attached to the saddle on one side. You attach the breast plate to the saddle with these buckles, pass this strap through the front legs and run the girth through this loop here. Then you tighten the girth like this…"_

_He stopped speaking abruptly. What was he doing? There was no way she could understand all those complex phrases!_

_The warrior turned his head to look at the girl, only to find her gazing with utmost concentration at the horse. Her lips were moving as she touched first the bridle, then the breast plate. Izark watched as she silently mouthed the name of each piece, running her hands over the leather and metal as she fixed words to images and vice versa. And he understood, finally, why she bothered to ask _hows _and _whys.

The young man had rarely declined to explain something since. Granted, there were times when he thought his tongue might fall off, but as long as he kept talking, she would keep listening, and learning.

Suddenly the trees fell away. Before them stretched a small clearing, overgrown with shrubs and tall grasses, and in the center…

Noriko had stopped. Walking up, Izark could not help but stare. A single tree towered in front of the girl. Though it was now high autumn, its leaves were still dark green, and many large, crimson flowers bloomed on its branches.

No wonder Noriko had run to find him. Obviously, she wanted to know _what _the tree's name was. The warrior halted beside her, waiting for the girl to turn and ask for an answer.

The question did not come. Perplexed, the warrior looked at Noriko, only to find her gazing as if spellbound at the great tree.

"Noriko?"

The young woman started, then dragged her eyes away from the tree to look at Izark. When he was sure he had her attention, the warrior pointed to the tree and named it. "Hana. A _Hana_ tree."

Silence met his words.

Noriko stared up at her guardian, trying with all her might to connect what she _knew_ with what he was telling her. Finally, she managed to stammer out,

"H- hana? Hana… tree?"

He was nodding, puzzlement in his eyes. _What is going on here?_

Noriko looked back at the tree, then at Izark, then at the tree, wondering how to say what she wished to tell him. _One word. I need one word, and an example. _She turned around, searching for the thing she needed in the clearing. When she found it, she whirled back to the warrior and held up her hand, said, "Wait," and trotted away, leaving Izark stock still and utterly mystified.

The young man watched as Noriko ran to a tall, blooming sedge, plucked off a flower, and returned. Holding it up before him, she pointed to it with her free hand.

"Flower," she told him, as if to make this very clear.

"Yes…?" he responded, not following her at all. But she smiled, and nodded. Walking passed him, she stepped up onto the roots of the tree and, leaning on the trunk, stretched up on her toes, reaching for the lowest of the red blossoms. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't get her hand high enough to touch the bloom.

She heard a rustle behind her, and a long arm came into view above her head. Balancing perfectly on another root, Izark carefully picked the bloom, then gently put it in her up stretched hand.

Only to have it immediately shoved under his nose.

"Flower," Noriko stated again, reminding him of the tutor he had had as a very small child.

"_Yes, _flower," the warrior told her, trying his best to keep the exasperation from his voice.

Again, Noriko beamed at him. Stepping down from the root she had been standing on, the girl took her hand from the trunk and transferred the sedge blossom from that hand to the one holding the red flower.

The next word she spoke was, as she knew it would be, extremely confusing to Izark.

"Hana," she said, pointing to the flowers in her hand.

…_Maybe _she's_ confused. _"No, this red one is a hana flower. The purple one is an autumn sedge. This tree is a _hana tree. _It is quite rare, and usually only grows in gardens, but the sedge…" he trailed off as Noriko shook her head so vigorously that he wondered if she would get dizzy.

"_Iie._ No," she told him firmly, then modified her tactics. She pointed to both flowers at once. "Here– Zago. _Flower. _Nippon– _Hana._"

She knew Izark understood when the frown he had been wearing vanished, to be replaced by wonder. Slowly, he reached out and touched the blossoms.

"The word for flower in your language… is _hana._"

His discovery was rewarded with a blinding smile, but Noriko was not finished. Instead, she pointed to the tree.

"Here– _Hana tree. _Nippon– _Tsubaki._"

It was Noriko's turn to watch as Izark stared, amazed. If she meant what he _thought _she meant…"So… So, the word you use for _flower _is the one we use for this tree. And your word for the tree…"

"Tsubaki!" The girl was grinning, delighted.

This was food for thought. It was the first time Noriko had ever tried to teach Izark the Japanese name for something. And such a rare tree, with a name that was practically a cognate for flower… She had dashed back to find him the minute she saw it. She had _recognized _it, meaning… Meaning–

"Izark?"

He had been staring at the Hana, the _Tsubaki. _Looking down, Izark found that Noriko had been staring at _him, _waiting for him to speak. She was still holding the two flowers.

Looking up at him, Noriko thought she saw pity in those unfathomable eyes.

Slowly, Izark reached out and touched the petals of the red camellia.

"Keep this. I'll show you how to dry it. It would be a shame not to, since you might be the only one who knows its real name. Keep it," he said again, folding her hand more firmly around the blossom's twiggy stem.

Both the warrior and his charge were silent as they made their way back to the campsite, Noriko carrying the red flower and the now full canteen, Izark holding a few large, flat river stones. After finishing the fire pit he had been making when the girl interrupted him, Izark showed her how she might preserve the blossom by pressing it in her diary, using flat stones as weights whenever they stopped.

"Noriko!"

It was morning. The warrior had been alarmed when he found that, while everything else was prepared for departure, his traveling companion seemed to have disappeared.

"Noriko!" He tracked her presence to the hana tree– or, as she called it, the _tsubaki. _There she was, sitting at its base, gazing up into the glossy green leaves. She didn't seem to have heard Izark at all.

For a moment, the young man stood, unsure as to the gentlest way to break the trance she appeared to be in.

Suddenly the girl sighed, shook her head, and scrambled to her feet. After taking a few steps, she turned, took one last look at the tree, then whipped around and ran.

Straight into Izark.

"Izark! I… I sorry!"

"It's all right. Just come along. Anyway, it's 'I _am _sorry.'"

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Author's Note: Yes, I do ride horses, so I know how to tack up. I found including the process in this story quite enjoyable. My family's mare, Sparkle, is a chestnut Arabian- Quarter Horse cross. Since her back is a little narrow, we use a breast plate to keep the saddle from sliding backward.


	2. How to Greet a Dragon

Author's Note: This one's been incubating since––well, since I saw the cover of Vol. 4. In the end, it's half 'sketch' file that I wrote _years _ago labeled 'Prior to Market Day' and half…something else. Thanks again to BlueTrillium for all the feedback. You were right, it should be a colon.

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How to Greet a Dragon

The winter of the Year of the Awakening was unusually warm and wet. Not that it snowed much in the mild climates around the Midland Sea, but the excess of rain had all the farmers forecasting a dry spring and drier summer, no matter what the seers said.

For his part, Izark was grateful for the lack of cold, and particularly the lack of snow––it meant that the mountains were traversable. Between dense rainforest and barren, timeworn mountain, Zago was a rugged place. If the passes had been closed by snow, the warrior would have been forced to choose between taking Noriko through the troops camped in the lowlands or waiting out the winter in some foothill shack.

Neither option was very appealing. On his own, Izark could have gotten through––he was used to dodging conscription––but he had this girl on his hands. There was almost nothing more potentially dangerous to a fetching little thing like Noriko than an army of bored, leering men, and that went without considering that she was also the Awakening for which every military in the world was searching.

Staying in one place would have been even less prudent. The combination of a traveling warrior and an island girl was already conspicuous, and stopping would only make them that much easier to trace.

Also, Izark wasn't sure he could stand being holed up with the Awakening for over a month.

It wasn't that he disliked Noriko––quite the contrary. If he was honest with himself, the young man would admit that he enjoyed her company more than he would have thought possible.

He _liked _Noriko: her small peculiarities, her fascination with everything she saw.

Her friendship.

Her _smile_.

However, the prophecy of the Awakening was a near-constant shadow in the back of his mind. No, as the Sky Demon, Izark was already too much involved; he couldn't afford to become anymore attached, and waiting for the passes to clear would have driven him mad (if he wasn't already––he sometimes wondered).

Nonetheless, the warrior set an easy pace for his charge's sake, and for the horse's. They traveled slowly, walking and riding at intervals along winding mountain roads that barely anyone used during that time of the year, and stopping when it rained. He saw no purpose in haste––without evident pursuit, running would just be a waste of energy. It wouldn't do for either the horse or Noriko to sicken from exhaustion. With any luck, they could mosey along the entire way and still reach Gaya's town before the middle of spring. No, there was no need to rush.

* * *

On an unseasonably warm and sunny noon near the end of winter, a shadow passed over the sun. Izark pulled the horse up short, staring skyward. Noriko followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual; just the sheer rock walls of the gorge through which the trail ran. Twisting around to look at the man seated behind her, she was slightly disconcerted to find that the intent, measuring gaze he had trained on the firmament was now directed at her. "Izark?"

Quickly the warrior weighed the risks against the opportunity that had just presented itself at the top of the cliff. It was unreasonable to expect heights-shy Noriko to go up _that _way, but there _should _be another route. The horse couldn't come in any case. _But if I'm right, _he rationalized, _then there's a settlement around here somewhere…_

"Izark? What––what is it?" Noriko was asking in her foreign accent, looking from him to the top of the gorge and back again with uncertainty.

The young man dealt her a small smile, just the barest lift of the corners of his mouth to show that circumstances were not dire. "Never mind. You'll see."

* * *

As Izark had predicted, they came to a ramshackle hamlet at the opening of the gorge––a cluster of five or so rickety stone buildings with mossy roofs and listing foundations. There was neither inn nor stable––not even a tying post–– but that was to be expected. These folk had little use for horses; littler still for visitors.

Noriko stood back and held the horse as, near the largest house, Izark exchanged some words with a weedy, grim-faced teenager working in a rocky vegetable garden. The Japanese girl couldn't make out what was said, but after a moment the mountain boy put down his hoe and trotted into the house.

The result: an equally weedy, grim-faced older man emerged to plant himself firmly between the travelers and the tumbledown gate. He carried a quiver slung across his back; a longbow strung in his hand. He had the look of a man whose life had used him hard, bringing some of the aspect of old age to a countenance that was otherwise barely past the prime of life. At first his posture was guarded, even hostile, but after some tense discussion his air changed to thoughtfulness, then to interest. The way he kept peering over Izark's shoulder at her made Noriko wonder if they were talking about her, and worry about what that could mean.

Finally, the mountain man's gaunt face split into a beaming grin (pleasant, despite a number of missing teeth) and he responded positively to the last thing Izark had said. He even invited them inside, directing the boy––his son––to put their horse in a small shed at the back of the house and to care for it while he did business with the visitors.

The man, Perik Sabra Lukar, sketched out a map while a granddaughter handed around the makings of a light midday meal. (From what Noriko could gather, the settlement was populated solely by Perik, his children, and their families.) The patriarch's enthusiasm in regards to whatever Izark was proposing was in startling contrast to his initial unwelcome. He thumped the young warrior on the back (something Izark tolerated with discomfiture), ruffled Noriko's hair, and asked all manner of questions. Where were they from? Where were they bound? Seconds, anyone? He laughed at how the 'island girl' butchered the name of his little domain––he found the way her inexperienced tongue turned 'Rinaxucal' into 'Rin-akisukara' _highly _amusing_––_and, grinning impishly, said several things that Noriko did not understand, but that caused Izark to blush and stammer denials. When he finally sent them off, it was with an invitation to stay the night, as well as a promise not to let the horse get eaten.

* * *

Recalling that last, Noriko could only conclude that she had misinterpreted, or maybe it was one of those cultural idioms that would take her years to figure out.

Shaking off the suspicion that she'd understood perfectly, she returned to the task at hand.

They were halfway up a set of near-vertical stone stairs, Izark following to guard against mishap. Noriko had just paused for a breather. She did not have to rest nearly as long as she would have when she first came to this world––riding the horse was a surprisingly vigorous activity, and the young woman's endurance had increased dramatically over the last several weeks. She was less confident in regards to coordination, and was both grateful for and embarrassed by her guardian's insight on that point.

She renewed her progress up the stairs. Actually, she thought it would be more accurate to call it a ladder, with notches cut into the rock walls to serve as handholds. A good thing, too, because the steps were slippery with condensation and worn smooth by running water.

_Running water? _She wondered where she got that impression. But yes, now that she looked, the steps were rounded on the edges, with pits and grooves where flood-borne debris had carved out intrusions in the softer stone. The steps of ancient temples were not worn this way, but hollowed towards the center by the passing of hundreds upon hundreds of feet. These stairs had that kind of wear as well, but _under _the marks made by water. No recent pilgrimages, then, but they were still old. Very old.

Reaching for the next handhold, the girl winced when her hand scraped against a sharp edge in the wall. Aside from the notches, they were completely un-worked. Whoever made the stairs had taken advantage of a natural crevice in an otherwise impassable mountainside.

It certainly _looked _impassable, at least from the outside. Noriko had been apprehensive when it seemed like Perik's map led up and over a sheer cliff––since coming to this world, she'd cultivated a new appreciation for guardrails––and was greatly relieved when Izark showed her the narrow fissure hidden behind a jumble of rubble. The shape of the mound had struck her as unnatural, and she realized now that _someone _had deliberately piled those stones in order to disguise the entrance to the stairs.

_Why? _Noriko wondered. Where had the stairs' makers intended them to lead? Where did they lead now? She had asked Izark where they were going during the short hike to the cliff, but the warrior had just said, "You'll see," and smirked.

_Humph._

Unbeknownst to Noriko, Izark had continued to stand where he was and was watching her climb. Or rather, watching her think as she climbed. It was interesting––fun, even. He could almost _see _the wheels turning as she gathered information to make up for answers he had purposely denied her. Still, he was confident that what lay ahead would be a complete surprise and, he hoped, a pleasant one.

The swordsman was gratified by the look of astonishment that came over the girl's face when they reached the top of the steps.

Much like Perik's hospitality, the wide fertile valley that spread out before them was entirely unexpected after weeks of nothing but mountain scrub and bare rock. A watercourse wound lazily down from hazy mountains, reflecting a perfect blue sky. Tall, yellowing grasses grew in the flood plain on both sides of the creek, and a group of giant rabbit-like creatures grazed serenely. Here and there, a raccoon-ish burrowing rodent poked its head up to look around.

The warrior had no way of knowing it, but Noriko had another reason to stare.

'_A stream runs through it._

_A shade of blue beyond description._

_Beautiful, peaceful animals.'_

But for differences owing to the change of seasons, it was all shockingly familiar.

It was her dreamscape.

Izark consulted the map. Then, taking a careful moment to fix the position of the stairs in his mind, he led the way down into the valley. Noriko followed, still feeling a bit overawed.

Another brief trek brought them to a clump of trees and tall shrubs that had seen better days. It looked to Noriko as if something large and ungainly had rested here recently. One or two lower branches hung down from splintered bases, while the dry winter grass was decidedly flattened.

Observing the damage, Izark nodded, then lowered himself into a sitting position with his back against the trunk of an ill-used tree. "Noriko," the warrior murmured, and motioned for the girl to sit beside him. The look she gave him was questioning, but she did as she was asked, folding her legs neatly beneath her in what he assumed was proper etiquette wherever she came from.

Nodding again in approval, he raised a hand for stillness and quiet. "Hush," he ordered, and settled back to wait.

Noriko obliged, though she was bursting to ask what had made such a huge dent in the undergrowth. She wanted to know why the stairs were built, why they were hidden, who had hidden them, what they were waiting for, etc. She wanted to verify whether Izark knew that she had a connection to this place, and if so then _how _he knew. She wanted to know any number of things, but suspected that the young man would just say "You'll see," and shush her again. He _usually _explained things. What was the point of her being able to understand what he said if he wouldn't tell her anything? Frustrated, she bit back a petulant huff.

The wait ended.

Noriko stiffened as the ground quivered. Greenery rustled and snapped as something huge shifted on the other side of the trees. Twisting toward the sounds, she jolted in fright when an eye bigger than a softball peered back at her from the bushes.

A reassuring hand settled on her shoulder, as a beige head the size of a man's torso nosed through the foliage, followed by a long neck which bent with serpentine grace. _It _possessed a set of giraffe-like horns, while the nose was vaguely equine. However, the creature's milky amber eyes were not that of an herbivore, but set forward in the skull like a predator's. Darker amber pupils expanded from slits to wide ovals as they adjusted to the shade on this side of the trees.

Calmly, Izark reached up his other hand. The beast lowered its head to sniff his fingers, and was rewarded with a pat on the nose. Immediately, the dinosaur––for the finely beaded texture of its pale hide resembled nothing so much as that of certain types of lizards–– stretched its neck down and twisted so the warrior could scratch behind its jaw. Chuckling, Izark obliged for a moment, then guided the animal's head around to Noriko.

After some prompting from the swordsman, the girl slowly reached out a tentative hand to stroke the smooth, warm nose, and couldn't help but giggle at the happy whining noises the creature emitted from its nostrils when she did. _It_s breath didn't smell so good, but then neither did a dog's.

"Izark? What is called?" she found herself asking her guardian.

"We call them _winged dinosaurs,_" the young man answered, and watched as the girl dissected the phrase.

Noriko certainly _was_ 'dissecting' the creature's name. The _dinosaurs _part wasn't difficult––a plural form, it combined a word that she was pretty sure meant 'reptile' with a sound that conveyed great size. And _winged_––birds had _wings_.

_A _winged dinosaur_––a big reptile that has_ wings_––_

…_Wings?_

Izark, observing with interest, tried not to smirk as Noriko's eyes moved up the creature's neck to stop at the foliage hiding the rest of its form from view. Slowly, so as not to startle the large friendly beast, he stood. Noriko looked up when he moved, and was mimicking him before he had a chance to tell her to stand. Nodding, the warrior turned and stepped away from the dinosaur's head, pacing backward in a straight line and gesturing for the girl to follow.

The dinosaur was not ready to give up being petted, and the ground trembled slightly as it maneuvered after them through the trees, bending branches almost to the breaking point, and flattening a small bush with one taloned foot while several more fell victim to its tail.

Noriko stared. It _did _have wings: immense bat-like appendages folded tightly over its back like a bird's.

It was not quite a dragon––with only two back legs and no arms, her science-fiction author father would have called it a _wyvern, _and she doubted that winged dinosaurs could breathe fire_. _Nonetheless, this was the stuff of her father's novels, and it was very real.

And very needy. Having freed itself from the underbrush, the dinosaur lurched forward on its raptor-like legs to stick its nose under Izark's hand, making soft keening noises and plainly asking for another scratch.

* * *

Unlike Guzena, Rienka, and a few other countries around the Midland Sea, Zago didn't have a national flight of winged dinosaurs. As far as the monarchy knew, there were no winged dinosaurs in Zago.

Almost everyone else knew better.

Generations of mountain smugglers guarded the nearly inaccessible valleys that served as nesting grounds for the slow growing reptiles. Though wild dinosaurs were ferocious predators, new hatchlings imprinted easily on humans. If you could successfully incubate an egg and then spend the next ten years training the hatchling, you'd have a gentle and obliging mount that could cover six hundred miles in less than a day. If it happened to be a female and you had plenty of help, then in another five years you could have up to four growing young dinosaurs capable of carrying increasingly heavy loads of contraband that would follow their mother anywhere––like Geeko, where government control of pearl fisheries in the Gulf of Isabesh had prompted a thriving black market. Or, if you were really ambitious, to the Free City of Rienka, whose geography made it _the_ trade capital of the northern Midland Sea, and where the merchants were notoriously unscrupulous concerning what and who they dealt with.

"Business is slow," Perik mourned over supper, "what with troops swarming the lowlands; it's not safe to fly in case we're seen. Worse, Geeko and Yansk keep sending their flights straight over top of us. Guzena did too, at the very start, but not anymore. I hear they were attacked by Rienka's mercenaries––lost most of their dinosaurs. They won't risk sending out the ones they have left." He sighed. "Me neither, until things calm down a bit. I can't stand the thought of any of my darlings being captured by those brutes."

Catching only every third word as she was, Noriko couldn't tell if Perik was referring to his grown children (also smugglers) or the tame dinosaurs that inhabited the hidden valley.

"You saw Pearl, right?" The mountain man asked Izark, who murmured a confirmation. "She's our matriarch––while she's alive, the only dinosaurs she'll tolerate in the valley are her babies and the passing male. Everyone knows that Grand Duke Kemil is just dying to get his hands on a matriarch so he can start a national flight. If the government finds out about the valley––about _any _of the valleys–– they'll confiscate everything––Pearl, her kids, the valley; _me_, _my _kids, _their _kids––_everything_."

* * *

The next morning, Izark paid Perik for their room and board, suffered a vigorous handshake, and refused the mountain man's offer to adopt Noriko ("I'm a little short of daughter-in-laws," was how Perik put it) before collecting the horse and loading his drowsy charge into the saddle. Apparently, once he ascertained that they were in no way connected to the government of Zago, Perik just loved entertaining visitors. He'd talked for the better part of the night.

Riding the horse still required some focus on Noriko's part. After an hour or so, she was awake enough to broach a few subjects about which she had questions. "Izark?"

"Yeah?"

"Perik…do not like government?"

"No. He's a smuggler."  
"Smuggler…?"

"…Well––"

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Author's Note: Pearl's (that's right, the dragoness) personality is based on that of my absurdly friendly cat, Hermes, who not only enjoys hugs but will hug you back––then attempt to claw his way back up if you put him down before he's finished being cuddled.

~Lanta

P.S. If you like this story (heck, if you don't), let me know! I appreciate hearing from everyone.


	3. Market Day

As of May 25, 2010

Disclaimer: Much as I love them, I do not own Izark or Noriko. All of the characters, place names, and other aspects of the manga From Far Away are the property of Kyoko Hikawa (By the way, she is a genius).

When I was little, one of my favorite songs was a folk round. To this day, I do not know its title, but it has a lovely melody and charming lyrics:

_White coral bells_

_Upon a slender stalk_

_Lily of the valley line my garden walk_

_Oh, don't you wish_

_That you could hear them ring_

_That will happen only when the fairies sing_

Anyway, remember the scene in book three, where Noriko buys something and comments on the similarities between Izark's world and her own?

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Market Day

The fruit was sweet and tangy, and left zinging warmth on the edges of Noriko's tongue after she swallowed. Actually, it tasted a bit like something from home. Or rather, it tasted like something she had smelled at home. An image flitted through the girls mind: her grandfather knelt in his garden, transplanting a young bush and carefully avoiding delicate bell shaped blooms that were the color of pearl.

Without words, Noriko made it clear to Izark what she thought of this dried "balo" fruit. The young man simply nodded as he counted out the required coins, then paid the stall tender for several of the large, fig-like berries and the bag needed to carry them. Frowning slightly, he calculated that, having already bought the trail rations to keep the two of them and the horse alive until they were through the mountains, he still had enough money to restock his first aid kit and pay some bribes without risking financial difficulties. This one small indulgence couldn't possibly hurt. The mayor of Calco had apologized rather excessively for giving him only 5000 zol after his trouble with the thieves. True, 5000 zol _was _a low price for a hired blade, but used responsibly…

"Balo is very good." The sentence was short and heavily accented, but clear and grammatically correct. Watching Izark for signs that she'd made a mistake, Noriko saw something glimmer in those dark eyes. A moment later, and nothing. Haltingly, she continued, "Balo is very good, but… But, expensive. Why…Why…?" Faltering, not knowing how to ask why he had chosen such a seemingly impractical purchase, she trailed off with a look that was as charming as it was frustrated and hopeless.

Guessing at her meaning, Izark pretended to misinterpret the words she had used. Traveling with Noriko and concealing from her their relationship as the Awakening and the Sky Demon, the young man was cultivating a talent for telling (and implying) half-truths. He had realized early on that his charge was far more perceptive than he had first given her credit for, and that he himself was too poor a liar to get away with any real falsehoods. "They're expensive because they've been dried. Fresh balos don't last very long, and the mountains are pretty far across." Hoping for once that she _didn't _understand, Izark turned in the direction of the spice market. "Come on, we still have a few things to buy." He certainly was not going to tell her that the fruit was a treat, or that he had noticed how much she liked sweet things.

Noriko's eyes glowed as she identified a verb from its context. "Buy?"

"That's right. Like, 'I buy balos,' Izark replied as they stopped in front of another booth. Urns and baskets overflowed with the big seedpods of the thathars plant. The oil made from crushing the seeds made a good base for tonics and salves, and was in itself an exceptional ointment for burns. Struck by an idea, Izark handed the money pouch to Noriko. "Pick one," he instructed, pointing to the baskets. "A black one, with lots of seeds."

The spark of pride and admiration, which Izark had attempted to smother, ignited again as Noriko carefully selected and paid for her purchase without his assistance. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to bury emotions connected with her, as if they already ran so deep as to touch the bottom of his heart. Occasionally, he would be forced to remember her identity as the Awakening. At times like this, however, there was little room in his awareness for fear and doubt.

"Here. Same," Noriko said, smiling as she returned his purse and handed over the thathars pod. Her next phrase was in Japanese, therefore unintelligible. "It helps me. My world. Sun. Moon. Stars. Same. Animals. Plants. Kinds. Many. We have."

Watching her, Izark saw a measure of peace in Noriko's expression that lightened his mind and, for a moment, drove out all the anxieties that plagued him. _She's happy. For now, she's happy…_

"Balo like…" The marks of an expressive personality bereft of its means to communicate were now clear on Noriko's face as she meaningfully tapped her nose.

"You mean, 'Balo _tastes _like'…?" Izark supplied, pointing to his mouth. He was puzzled when Noriko shook her head.

"Balo tastes like…" she repeated after him, tapped her nose, then spoke a strange word.

Izark had been staring blankly for half a minute before he figured it out. When he did, he was forced to look up at the sky and take another half-minute to rearrange the grin stealing over his face into a more reserved expression. It was all that the usually guarded warrior could do not to tweak that adorable little nose. He'd known some interesting people in his life so far, but he'd never met anyone who thought like Tachiki Noriko. Who ever heard of comparing a taste with a smell?

Any one who knew him (as well as a few who didn't) would have seen that Izark was in danger, though not the mortal kind. Walking through a morning market in Zago, the young man was keenly aware of the sounds that Noriko's feet made on the cobblestones behind him, a pitter-patter for every one of his own long strides.

"So, balo tastes like something you've smelled before, eh?" he said, and slowed down.

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Well? Please review. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


	4. Silence

Silence As of FF_1436899_

Disclaimer: I don't own From Far Away (to My Heart), Hikawa Kyoko does, but I did think up a way to explain Izark's ability to sense other people and monsters. Well, besides Noriko and seriously evil spirits.

Anyway, this scene takes place the night after Izark leaves Noriko at Gaya's house.

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Silence

_It's so quiet._

Izark lay stretched out under a wagon, one hand behind his head, which rested against his bag. There was no need for him to find an inn; the night was a spring one, and warm. Besides, it would take more than a cool breeze and a little dew to hurt him.

He'd spent most nights like this since he had left home.

That is, before the last three months.

The young man shifted, trying to get comfortable. He'd have to get used to sleeping on the ground again. Recently he had made every effort to find a room whenever he entered a town.

Or rather, whenever _they_ entered a town.

Izark shifted, settled himself, and shifted again. He had been fidgeting for a good half an hour before he finally gave up, resigned to sleeplessness. He would have to re-accustom himself by degrees, starting with mildly uneven ground and working his way back up to wheel ruts. True, they had settled for haylofts at least a dozen times, and they had done a good deal of camping in the mountains, but these were not facts that supported the explanation the young man had invented and so had no business in his mind at present.

_It's so quiet._

The evening before had seemed silent, as well. Spent on one of Gaya's soft spare beds, with good clean sheets and warm blankets and the window open just a crack so that cool fresh air slid into the room. So comfortable, yet he had tossed and turned for the better part of two hours.

During that time- he would not, _could not_ admit it, but- during that time, he had begun to wonder whether she fared as poorly as he did. Without even realizing it he had opened his senses; feeling with superhuman sensitivity for the tiniest vibration in the atmosphere.

And he had heard- or rather felt- _her_.

She had been there, just paces away through the wall. The space around her was warmed to the temperature of her body, which he knew to be just slightly cooler than his. The wall absorbed most of that heat before it could reach him, and there was not a trace of the special, alien-world smell that still wafted –now ever so faintly- from her skin, or of the sound of her heart, usually muffled by blankets but now completely blocked by wooden beams and plaster. He could, however, hear her waking breaths, shallow and fast compared to those of sleep. There had been sadness in the harsh way the air passed her lips. That quality slowly faded as the rhythm gradually slowed, and he knew she slept.

He must have drifted off not long after that.

_It's so quiet. _And yet he could hear the light spring breeze wending through the streets. Somewhere a shutter creaked back and forth, back and forth. It was too early in the season for insects, but already a few muffled chirrups could be heard, even this far into the city. The wagon was filled with hay. Damp, musty hay, if the strong odor of fermenting grasses was any indication. The stable in front of which the wagon was parked radiated warmth from the many drowsy horses kept within. They too, had a pungent scent.

Small comfort to Izark, who twisted restlessly again, stubbornly cursing the hard ground as the cause of his insomnia.

Presently the chiming for the fifth period of dark could be heard, and the young man jerked upright in frustration- _Damned bell-_ ,only narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the wagon's axle.

Snatching up his bag, Izark scrambled out from under the wooden vehicle, slung his belongings over his shoulder, then set off at a stiff trot. There was no point in sitting around and waiting for morning when he could be putting as much space as possible between himself and the Awakening. Or so he told himself.

Sleep was overrated, anyway. Restless sleep was worse than wakefulness. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? Such a slumber would only come with the nightmares.

They had been different lately. Less of his mother. Less of fire, and shadows. More of wide brown eyes, made wider still by terror and pain. More of a special foreign scent mixing with the sour smell of fear, or the smell of blood, or both. More of shrill, petrified sobbing, of a heart-beat and then nothing, of a familiar warmth suddenly extinguished.

On and on he ran, filling the darkness with his echoing steps.

On and on, down empty streets, striving to outrun his fate.

And the silence.

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Well? Please R&R, especially if you, dear reader, should find errors of any kind. Muchas gracias.


	5. The Wind and the Moon: All Hallows

The Wind and the Moon

Noriko sat up quickly, shivering as a sudden breeze rushed around the tiny hollow. _But this place is on the leeward side of a mountain,_ she reasoned;_ and the trees are so close together that they should make a windbreak- _

"Noriko?"

The girl turned her eyes toward the fire to find Izark sitting cross-legged on the other side. He had been sitting up, as was his habit, to watch the fire. That was what he said, and Noriko chose to believe him. Now he looked at her over the flames, concerned. It was not normal for Noriko to wake from deep sleep so suddenly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. It wouldn't do to betray his own present nervousness, lest it effect her impressions for the worse.

"Nothing, I guess," she replied, but looked around at the shadows beyond the halo of firelight. "Just the wind, I think." Though it had not been the wind that first woke her, she realized as she spoke. The girl could not help but tremble a little as she remembered the feeling that had startled her: a cloying, hazy presence rolling like smoke into a peaceful dream. An entity, not a figment, and with a will of its own, prodding at her latent fears and doubts with what seemed to be fiendish delight, then scattering into a thousand wisps the moment she became conscious of it. Noriko looked back at Izark, who was still gazing at her intently. "I thought I felt something," she admitted to him.

The young man's whole aspect changed without his moving a muscle. His expression never wavered, yet somehow his countenance was growing sterner every second.

"Something," he repeated, his voice even. "What kind of something?"

But his tension did not escape Noriko, who instantly knew what he was thinking.

"Oh, nothing like the monster in the White Mist Woods," she said, flapping her hand a little to assure him that it was nothing serious. "Nothing really sinister, it was more- well- mischievous. Like someone breathing in your ear, (Brother used to do that to me all the time) or howling outside your window after telling you a scary story, something like that."

"Hmm," Izark mused, glancing up to the place where the trees met the dark sky, and where a full moon was just making itself visible from behind the leafy branches. Seeing that white rim, the warrior promptly smacked himself in the forehead. "I thought the birds were making less noise than they should. Noriko, come over here. Bring your things."

Very curious as to why he had hit himself, the young woman obeyed. She quickly wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, then carried her bag and pillow over to where he sat and knelt beside him, silently begging for an explanation. Staring at the fire, Izark absently put his arm around her waist.

"It's been a longtime since I paid attention to the Spirit Days," he said, pulling her closer until she had to scoot over in order to remain comfortable. "The last full moon of summer is what we call the SylphMoon. Some people say it's natures way of warning us to prepare for winters hardships, or that the elementals are reminding those who can't see them that the sylph and other spirits exist. Whatever the case, they will be very active tonight, the good and the bad, and they'll all be making mischief. Look." The fire dimmed, leaving them in darkness but for the glow of the red coals.

As her eyes adjusted, Noriko began to distinguish shapes in the night. Some were like sculpted moonlight, while others were figures of concentrated shadow. There were thousands of them, varying in distinctness from vague outlines to near solidity, covering the entire color spectrum, and running the gamut from luminous to completely obscure. There were those that could have passed for human, while many took the forms of fantastic beasts and still more took no form, but wove and coiled through the trees like living mist or many colored winds. She stared in awe at the phantasmal parade that swirled all around them, and cringed when a sprite, noting her awareness, swooped gleefully toward the two humans. In mid-dive, the imp frowned, veered away, did a tight circuit around them, made a face, and whooshed off into the eddying mist.

"What was that?" Izark spoke softly in her ear when she recoiled, turning her head into his shoulder. He could tell from the way she had been staring that she sensed many more apparitions than he did. He drew he protectively into his lap, cuddling her to his chest as the fire blazed again, its light immediately overpowering that of the specters. "What did you see?"

Noriko looked up at him, shivering. "You didn't see them?" and then, to answer his question, "One just dived at us, but it lost interest for some reason. There are _thousands_, Izark. You really can't see them?"

The young man shook his head. "I can see a few of them. Remember what Irk said, about how most people can't see him because he generates too little energy? Nights like this give them extra strength, so that the most powerful ones are visible. Irk must be pretty strong, if you can see him in broad daylight. He had been staring at the fire as he spoke, but now he craned his neck around in order to see her face. The fear he saw in the depths of her wide, bright eyes made him wish he had not told her about the SylphMoon or shown her the festival of shadows taking place all around them, but the damage was already done. Now he must do something to repair it.

"Don't worry," he whispered in a kind tone, resting his cheek against he forehead. "They won't touch you again as long as you are here with me."

"Why is that?" Noriko asked, trusting his words completely but nonetheless curious.

She immediately regretted the question. Izark was still and silent, which meant that she had touched a sore spot somewhere in his memory. It was a thing that she found herself doing much more often than she intended to, that being never, but which she couldn't seem to avoid.

The warrior swallowed, having decided what words he should and shouldn't use.

"I told you it's been a long time since I paid any attention to the Spirit Days. That's because I learned that I didn't have to pay attention to them. Before I left home, I followed the same customs as everyone else: put an offering of some kind just outside every door and window, preferably in a clay dish that the spirits can break to prove they are real. The goal is to provide them with trouble they can cause outside the houses and the barns, the fields… you get the idea." He stared into the fire, resolved to avoid the subject of his family. For now. "I kept it up for a while after I left, but I couldn't always find a place to sleep inside. The first time that happened on a Spirit Day," here Izark paused to clear his throat.

_It was the Night of the Winter Fiend. A boy of about thirteen pelted along a mountain road, long strides eating up the distance as he attempted to backtrack, but it was already too late. Even at his current pace, it would take him until early morning to reach the town he had been aiming for. That was plenty of time for a fiend to find him. _

_A strange mist was beginning to form. It glowed an icy blue that added to the chill of a winter night in the mountains. Finally, the child, for that is all he really was, came to a halt and glared into the darkness, flame blue dragons' eyes straining to penetrate the eerie haze. Cold sweat mixed with the moisture collecting on his shoulder-length black hair and trickled down his collar, while his breath came fast and shallow. Clenching his fist, he could feel sharp talons digging into his palm even as they formed. _

_Izark turned slowly, considering his options. They were fewer than he liked, and each had their own risks attached. He could keep going in the fog, but doing so might draw unwanted, even dangerous attention. If he chose to stay put, on the other hand, he was more likely to meet an evil spirit even this far into the mountains than an hour down the road. Winter spirits tended to be more powerful in the highlands. _

_A frigid gust from the lowlands he had been heading for blasted his back while leaving the thick fog intact, and the boy knew he was in for it. After a second's hesitation he dashed back up the path. In less than a minute he was at the stand of trees he had passed a short while ago. Quickly he pulled some food out of his bag and deposited it on the road. Hopefully that would placate anything that happened by. Hopefully… _

_Another squall sent the terrified child scrambling into the trees, where he huddled between the roots of a gnarled evergreen. Watching through the dense foliage, Izark thought he saw a particularly thick bank of mist moving slowly, deliberately, up the road. As it came closer, he began to perceive two or three individual bright spots. Or rather, figures with cores of shadow wrapped in concentrated light the same color as the mist. GREAT. But then again, this was how his luck tended to run. He'd heard that most winter spirits were reasonably non-threatening, as were most elemental spirits. It was the malevolent ones that made it so dangerous to be out on Spirit Days. It figured that on the one night he was caught outside he would end up encountering no less than three Frost Wraiths, by all accounts the kind of apparition most likely to kill you when, not if, it found you, not to mention the most sadistic. It was said that Frost Wraiths were actually a combination of elemental and dark spiritual energy, which explained their cruel nature._

_The cold that came with them hit the boy's throat and lungs like a physical blow. Breathing no longer seemed like an option. Now abreast of his hiding spot, the wraiths paused as one of them explored the offering he had left with a feathery tentacle of mist. The thing toyed with the bits of travel bread, derision obvious in its deliberate inspection of each tiny piece. One of the other creatures reached out a sinuous coil and picked up a large crumb, then let it fall with a dull ping on the road, where the mud had frozen solid. The third lost interest in the offering almost immediately, but rolled questing toward the copse of evergreens. Izark tried desperately to stop his teeth from chattering, even when he knew it wasn't the sound that drew the wraith._

_The grove filled with freezing mist as the fiend moved through the trees, clearly enjoying its prey's fear. The child shook uncontrollably as he stared death in the face. The intense blue light was all around him now, and the dark core he had first perceived as wrapped in the light hung directly before him and was expanding. _

_It was the sight of the writhing black mass preparing to consume him that roused the boy's instincts. Suddenly the threatening cold was infuriating, the Wraith itself utterly revolting. He absolutely refused to die like this, that thing would not touch him, he'd make it sorry, this would not- _

_Instantly the mists retreated, as did their dark core, and Izark could breath again, though the spirit was still very close. He looked down, and was surprised to see the vague shape of tree roots where before there had been only fog. In the eerie light he perceived himself to be at the center of an invisible dome, outside of which the mist roiled. It would have been laughable, the puzzlement with which a long coil of darkness extended from the core, to touch the dome questioningly._

_The boy stiffened at the contact. It was as if the fiend was touching some part of his essence, and he hated it passionately. He'd make it sorry._

_The air inside the dome was hot. The wraith recoiled, only to discover that the shield was growing to push it away. The spirit was not quick enough and, as the dome pressed outward, Izark thought he glimpsed a strange face pushed against the barrier, a face veiled in shadow and twisted by fear and resentment, because it had recognized one stronger than itself._

_The spirit fled, gliding quickly up the path, its fellows appearing from the other side of the road and, sensing the shield, also fleeing. Somehow, the boy had survived. But here was another difference; here as another power that would ostracize him from human beings. Here was another strength that would undoubtedly cause injury where he had intended none, and would spread fear instead of acceptance. Here was another token of his doom. The child stayed in the grove for the rest of the night, trembling for fear and fighting back tears._

"So there you are." he told her, his voice ironically devoid of triumph. "I got the hang of using my energy as a shield, and eventually I didn't need to worry about the spirits because they're worried about me. I'm a monster that even monsters fear. But," the warrior turned his gaze way from the fire and back to Noriko's dear, open face, which at that moment held an expression that utterly rejected his last statement. "But even when I lost control in Selena Guzena, I recognized you. I remembered what you meant to me as soon as I saw you," he whispered as he leaned in, "and I knew that I would never hurt you, no matter what I was or became. That I could stay with you," he breathed against her lips, "and protect you, even from myself. So don't –"

He never finished. Noriko cut him off, lacing her fingers around the back of his head and kissing him. Izark took it as a sign of agreement, and let himself drowned in the soft warmth of her mouth.

Suffice to say they were both blushing when they found it necessary to come up for air. For a time Izark went back to contemplating the fire while Noriko rested her head against his shoulder. Finally she said, "Izark? Do you mind if I write that story down?"

The young man thought about it before answering. "Go ahead, he encouraged her." Then, sternly, "But not tonight. You should be asleep. No" he said, and stopped her from getting up, "stay right here. It's SylphMoon, remember? You need to stay inside the shield."

Noriko made a face at him before snuggling her head back into his shoulder. Within minutes her breathing became slow and rhythmic. When he was certain she slept, Izark tightened his grip on her waist and stood up. Supporting her with one arm, the warrior carefully maneuvered over to their meager supply of wood, then returned and placed a piece on the fire, but not before hissing, "Try that again, and I'll make sure the next stick is so wet it steams. I can keep her warm if need be."

He wasn't at all surprised when the fire hissed back.

_No chance of any fun this year, I see_, it sizzled glumly. _It really isn't fair. We fire spirits always end up getting caught. We can't even give people bad dreams without being threatened with wet._

Izark smiled. "Look at it this way," he suggested quietly. "You got my attention, not to mention hers. Isn't that the whole idea of the mischief making?" Then an idea occurred to him. "I can hear you," he murmured. "I take it you have an exceptional amount of energy."

_But of course,_ came the reply, along with a smug little pop.

"Well, it's wasted on Noriko and me," he retorted as he carried her back to the place where they had been sitting. He sat down carefully, then eased back until he lay flat on the ground with her head on his chest and his arms around her. "And I meant what I said about the next stick. She needs her rest. Don't try anything."


End file.
